Tale as Old as Time
by DeFier
Summary: Classic Series - Heatman demonstrates his capacity for the blankly bizarre while forcing Airman to take him out to dinner.


_**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Airman, Heatman, or anything else pertaining to Rockman/Megaman or related icons. All of that belongs to Capcom--I simply spin them to my will. Additionally, ringtone lyrics are by Team Nekokan. And for the record I don't own anything Disney either, since I make a reference to that in passing._

_This story was originally written for Mag's Yaoi Fanfic Meme, but it only contains minor references to boys' love/shonen-ai--nothing sexual in nature whatsoever. It is also rather short, for the same reason._

_Man I love these two._

* * *

Being a giant fan, Airman was used to strange occurrences in his life. When one is possessed of an unusual life, one encounters unusual things, so he thought. He was sitting calmly in a charmingly cozy chair, browsing the articles in a National Geographic magazine (with a special on tornadoes, he noted with an inferred smile) when the day's most unusual event chose to occur.

And who else but the young Heatman chose to be the evening's bearer. Airman noticed him by chance, glancing up as he turned a page in his periodical to see the little Zippo sneak past the doorway to the room Airman was reading in, and he was struck curious by the fact that Heatman was looking decidedly un-Zippo in his passing. For a moment he considered simply returning to his reading, despite Heat's mildly intriguing lack of armor as he snuck about the fortress like a little mouse, but a buzzing down by his leg stopped him mid-decision.

_Ga taose~nai, yo!_

He set his magazine down and lifted the little phone he'd set next to him to see it proclaiming he'd received a message from the robot he'd just seen pass by his room—of course; Heatman had a habit of looking completely uninterested and then using his apparent lack of notice to quietly observe everything around him. This text message was a calculated maneuver, as he should've expected, especially considering that the fact that he owned the phone in the first place was Heatmanf's doing. Airman himself questioned the practicality of a robot with no visible ears owning a cell phone—he did have ears of course but he knew it had to look incredibly strange to any passers-by—but Heatman had slowly broken him down into asking the good doctor for one, probably as a part of one of his mysterious schemes.

The fandroid flipped his cellular open and mashed the proper button to allow him to read the text. "We have a date tonight," it read, short and almost quiet in and of itself, despite being text, "Don't forget." Then, with all the manner that Heatman usually spoke with, the text seemed to coyly yet deliberately add "Please."

Airman groaned beneath his breath; so that was Heat's idea. Indeed he had managed to put it out of his mind that he'd allowed himself to be worn down by falsely-bored and nearly-dangerous-sounding verbal pokes and prods yet again. Heatman was if not the most persuasive Robot Master he knew, then at least the most tenacious, and when he truly wanted something then he inevitably seemed to acquire it. Airman had always felt somewhat uncomfortable being the apparent object of the lighter boy's affections; somehow, he just couldn't shake the notion that Wily had designed the two of them with a bit of an age difference in mind.

Yet Heatman was completely unperturbed by such an idea, and he had promised to take him somewhere, and so Airman forcibly proverbially swallowed his misgivings and set his magazine aside to get prepared.

*

The large blue android carefully pulled his tie through its loop and tugged it straight. He sighed through the air vents on his "neck"; he made appearances often and was well known as a regal and well-mannered individual, including at the restaurant he was taking Heat to that evening, but somehow he always felt a little bit silly when he looked at himself dressed in a suit. Something about the fact that it hid the propeller in his chest both humanized him and detracted from his identity, but overall having a "head" like he did barely poking out of the collar of a dress shirt just seemed slightly ridiculous. Though, he thought with confidence, he felt that he of all the other Robot Masters with such unusual anatomy, made a suit look the finest.

He lightly set a tophat atop his sapphire scalp as he strode from the room, bringing his dressing to completion. "Heatman?" he called from the bottom of the stairs, peering upward just in time to catch a glimpse of something dressed in yellow walking briskly toward the staircase. "Mm, a yellow suit…" he thought to himself. "Well, I suppose if anyone could pull it off it would be Heatman. He does have a penchant for y—" His thoughts trailed away as the Zippo in question strode into view at the top of the stairs. He had completely disarmed himself for the outing, tying back his vibrant hair with a somewhat obnoxious ribbon instead of a helmet. The giant green button ordinarily attached to the front of his Zippo armor seemed to have been transferred over and fastened to the breast of this new garment, which was not a suit at all, as it turned out, but a ball gown. The little android had descended upon the scene with his typical blank expression and heavy-lidded eyes, wearing a dress.

For a moment Airman honestly had nothing to say. He had simply been caught genuinely off-guard by the sheer absurdity of the situation. There was Heatman, dressed as a… as a Disney Princess, and simply intending to step out for a night on the town without any precedence or explanation as to his choice of clothing. He just stood there, staring blankly and unblinkingly down to Airman standing in shock below him. Then, in that slightly nasally and slightly eerily blank voice of his, he said, "…You look nice."

"Heatman what in God's name are you doing?" he spluttered at last, unable to resist the temptation to slap the palm of his hand over what bit of a "face" he possessed and groan.

"…I'm dressed for our date," Heatman continued in that same emotion-devoid tone.

"You're dressed in drag," Airman corrected him in earnest. "I don't under… What prompted you to dress like _this_?" The usually-a-Zippo said nothing. "I thought you liked suits?"

"I do," he answered. "I wanted to do something different." Airman started to say something but Heat simply continued uninhibited, "Is the bow too much?"

"Is the bow too…" He repeated weakly. "The whole thing is too…" He drew a slow, composing breath, and rubbed his temples. "…The ribbon is a bit obnoxious." In response, Heat pulled on one end of the string and the whole thing came undone, allowing his hair to fall back across his shoulders. He wrapped it around his wrist and stuffed it into a dress pocket as he started down the stairs toward the giant fan man. As he reached the bottom, he extended his arm expectantly to his date.

Airman just stared, defeated at the hands of the tiny Heatman once again. "Are you honestly going to wear that out tonight?" he asked a final time. Heat stared up at him without answering for a good thirty seconds at least, before returning a question of his own.

"…Why not?"

And Airman lacked a proper retort. He rolled his eyes before looping his arm through Heatman's and starting toward the door. "You're going to be taking those shoes off before the night's over, though."


End file.
